


sandman

by yehetno



Series: lean into it (soulmate au) [1]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: (yes i know that other ppl are writing soulmate aus), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, i apparently do not know what a plot is, i genuinely do not think that i know how to write fics, me @ me: stop doing this to eunwoo, one casablanca reference bc why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:30:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yehetno/pseuds/yehetno
Summary: Myungjun wishes that it was as easy as counting sheep.("In a world that accepts fate or destiny or whatever you want to call having a soulmate, there are no coincidences or happy accidents.  Take a leap of faith because it's bound to get you somewhere.")





	

**Author's Note:**

> soulmate!aus are my literal life blood. so, yeah. basically in this au, you dream of your soulmate.
> 
> i'm inserting a standard forewarning about typos and missed words, and apologizing for the general mediocrity that you're about to read.

The needle of the turntable rides along the ridges and grooves of the vinyl record, projecting quiet ambient noise with the occasional scratch against the disc.  The low crackle fills in the dead silence that takes up residence in Myungjun's house at night.  The turntable continues to spin, and if it wasn't an inanimate object, Myungjun would swear that it does so to spite him.

It has been a while since the record reached the end of the music; Myungjun doesn't know how long, minutes or hours make no difference when sleepless nights come.  Increments of time all bleed together into one long torturous moment that knows no end; seconds find ways to stretch themselves out when sleep eludes him.  The darkness flirts with the idea of overwhelming his consciousness but never drags him under.  He lies on the cusp of unconsciousness, just out of reach of temporary reprieve from the real world, tired but unable to shut down.  Dreams, beautiful Dreams are on the other side, locked away in the neurons of his brain, the very brain that is intent on preventing Myungjun from falling asleep.

This is probably a bad sign.

Dreams are supposed to lead you to them, the one, your  _one._  Myungjun has caught flashes, the briefest of glimpse of a face and the corner of a smile.  He has heard echoes of whispers of a voice and a faint giggle.  Phantom touches glide along his skin in his sleep, hesitant and afraid of making a misstep.  Cool fingers linger too long on Myungjun's lips, making it feel like his soulmate can see more of Myungjun than Myungjun can of him.

His soulmate is always out of focus, blurry and soft at the edge of Myungjun's line of vision, never quite corporeal.  Myungjun wants to latch on, tug his fingers through the strands of his soulmate's hair, hold on so tightly that when he wakes up his soulmate will be there next to him, dragged into the real world out of sheer force of will.  Myungjun wants and wonders and hopes and prays and wishes, but as it is, he could walk past his soulmate without even realizing it.  He doesn't have a concrete image; he has nothing to feel and no voice to imagine whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

It drives him insane, so he tries not to think about it.  As often as he tries, he fails.

Myungjun stares at the ceiling, unsure of whether or not it's out of focus.  He comes to the decision that he should probably just turn off the turntable, pull the needle away and slip the disc back into its cardboard sleeve.  He hisses as his bare feet hit the cool wooden floor. 

Dongmin has suggested that Myungjun might be incapable of dreaming, which is why it might be so difficult to cut through the fog and get a clear glimpse of the person who is supposed to be his forever.  Dongmin is probably right; Dongmin has a scary ability to get to the heart of a problem in most cases. 

Sanha says that Myungjun has it better than he thinks. He claims that he would rather have glimpses of his soulmate and feel that tenderness on the other side of the connection.  He says he would rather grope blindly at a hope of a chance of a connection than know who his soulmate is and know that he is unattainable.  (Sanha never tells Myungjun or Dongmin who his soulmate is, but Myungjun catches him staring wistfully at newsstands sometimes, distractedly touching his lip when he watches television.)

It is a lie to say that Myungjun hasn't killed hours jumping from article to article on how to improve Dreams and retain memories in more vivid detail.  Some are sponsored articles pushing a special kind of tea; others suggest seeking out an agency to track down your soulmate for you. In theory, people aren't even supposed to need outside help; that is the entire purpose of Dreams. Perhaps that is what upsets Myungjun the most, he can't help himself out.  He is incapable of going down the path that destiny has set out for him; he can't even find the beginning of his path.

Myungjun stares at the album art printed on the flimsy cardboard cover that protects his record.  He cannot adequately explain his attraction to vinyl.  Something about the weight of the sound, the depth, the crackle of it, it reminds him that there is space between him and whoever is singing in his ear.  It provides an inexplicable richness to the audio as if the vinyl record knows that it has been pressed and packaged and therefore doesn't pretend that it's the real thing. The distance, the recognizable distance is comforting; the real thing isn't serenading him from the corner of his bedroom and encouraging him to sleep and grasp onto the pieces and fragments of his soulmate that he sees, hears, feels, smells, and tastes.

He sets the record aside and pads lightly toward the open door of his bedroom. 

Sometimes Myungjun doesn't like how big his house is.  There are too many rooms and not enough people.  His house is cold and spacious, barely lived in.  It doesn't feel like a home, and that's the most important part of a house.  Myungjun's voice is the only one that bounces off the pristine surfaces.  There are no lingering scents of strangers.  His house doesn't bear any of the scars that come with residents, no scratches on the floor, no fingerprints dirtying the windows, no stains on his upholstered furniture.  It is filled with Myungjun and Myungjun alone.

His house is supposed to remind him of a future, the one that he's been promised by the mere existence of a soulmate.  The furniture might still be stiff now, but somewhere in the future, he'll lie on the couch in his soulmate's arms, content to just exist, fingers running absentmindedly over exposed skin.  They'll clean up the aftermath of a get-together, wash dishes while knocking elbows and jokingly complaining about in-laws.  Everytime Myungjun imagines something, he feels a sick twist in his gut.  He doesn't know who he's supposed to be thinking about; he has this whole little life planned out and no one to share it with.

Myungjun resolves to make himself a cup of tea.  He fills his tea kettle with just enough water before setting on his stove, listening to his gas burner click and click until the gas catches a flame and adjusts the temperature from there.  The fire beneath his battered little tea kettle burns a soft blue; it laps at the already existing scorch marks on the kettle.

Does his soulmate like tea?

Myungjun sighs, ignoring the thought and all of the ones like it that pop up without his permission throughout his day.  He grabs his box of chamomile and sets it on the counter next to the stove before leaning against the lip of the counter with arms crossed.

Sometimes he indulges himself and asks all sorts of questions that he knows will go unanswered.  The most important one, he supposes, asks if his soulmate struggles just as much with Dreams as he does.  He hopes not; at least one of them should know who look out for.  He wants to think that somewhere out there his soulmate's eyes flick over crowds, searching for the right face.  He does it, and he doesn't even know who he is supposed to find.  He just hopes destiny will pull through and he will  _know_ without ever needing a Dream to tell him.

His kettle whistles high and shrill, so he turns off the burner.  He takes out a packet of tea and places it in an empty mug.  He pours his boiling water into the cup, filling it to what he deems to be a reasonable point.  He slides his kettle to the back burner and waits for his tea to steep.  He picks at his thumbnail and considers his problem.  Dongmin has been subtly suggesting that he see a therapist.  He recalls the words "mind over matter" and a gently stern expression accompanying his friend's simple wish for Myungjun's happiness.

Myungjun ends up drinking his tea on the couch; it's almost too hot to taste anything.  Its flavor registers as floral, although the tip of his tongue throbs with minor burns.  He tucks his legs under his body, staring at the blank face of his powered-down television.  He can see a vague impression of a reflection of himself, half of his body lit by the moonlight.

He just wants to sleep.

No.

He just wants to dream, to Dream of his soulmate.

 

//

 

_Warmth.  Solid warmth presses flatly against his back, tangles its fingers with Myungjun's.  The warmth presses a soft, butterfly kiss at the base of his neck._

_Lips.  The warmth has lips, Myungjun realizes.  Something in him wants the lips to go back, press another, then another, then a million more.  The kiss leaves a faint, damp impression that grows cold, reminding him that the surges in warmth result in a withdrawal more significant than the warmth given._

_Myungjun is sleepy; he's tired.  Sleep clings to his consciousness, trying to drag him from the warmth; it makes the world fuzzy and not-quite-intelligible.  The situation is like a word at the tip of his tongue, almost there, on the precipice of forming.  The letters, the meaning, all of it is there, but it won't pull together into a cohesive unit of language._ That _is how Myungjun feels, how the Dream keeps him in the dark._

 _Lips. Lips._ ** _Lips._  ** _Lips on the shell of his ear, dragging along the edge.  Teeth lightly bite down, and Myungjun, Dream Myungjun paws at it, swats it away.  And_ no. _Myungjun doesn't want that._

_Until._

_Until._

_Oh until he hears a laugh, a clear one.  It's earthy and deep and abrupt, and the warmth's body shakes against his back.  The laughing exhales move past Myungjun's ear in a warm rush.  The lips press a kiss on the corner of Myungjun's jaw, and the warmth lets out a soft chuckle.  The warmth presses even closer to Myungjun, closer than Myungjun would have thought possible.  Dream Myungjun nestles into it with a contented sigh, breathing in and_ breathing in _.  It smells comfortable like clean laundry and lavender and petrichor and promises and_ ** _home._**

_The warmth graces him with two more kisses, one on the cheek, the other on the conjunction of his neck and shoulder.  The warmth disentangles itself from Myungjun, pulls away, leaving Myungjun's body cold, but his sleep fuddled mind decides that the happiness oozing from his chest will keep him content enough until his warmth returns with its kisses and laughter._

_Morning sunlight hits his closed eyes, making the backs of his eyelids a pinkish black.  An eye cracks open, lips pursed ready to protest the start of the day.  All that Myungjun sees is negative space in a halo of sunlight, only the outline of a person, his features hidden in a shadow because the light stabs at his eyes._

_He feels his lips forming a blissfully annoyed smile, nose scrunching in mock disapproval, and Myungjun almost sees his soulmate, almost sees_ him.  

 

Myungjun wakes with a start.

 _Him_ , Myungjun thinks.   It's something, but it isn't enough.

 

//

 

Myungjun crosses his legs, trying to find a way to get comfortable.  It seems, however, that comfort is an impossibility in this office.  The room temperature is two degrees below what a normal person would find comfortable.  The furniture is too stiff; the cushions of his chair squeak every time that Myungjun shifts.  It feels like too many things are trying to occupy the same space; the walls are plastered with degrees, awards, and commendations.  The book shelves bow under the weight of too many books.  Magazines and journals are crammed into every possible crack and available space that a book cannot quite fill.  The desk in front of him is a mess of files and loose papers; trinkets and photo frames serve as paper weights to counteract the flow of air from the noisy vent above the door.  Even the name placard sits on top of a hodgepodge of papers, files, and journals,  _Moon Bin, MD._

It makes Myungjun feel claustrophobic.

He wants to bail out, say it's all stupid, and vow never to take Lee Dongmin's advice again. It does not help at all when his psychologist bursts into the office slightly out of breath, tie askew, cheeks a brilliant red, hair sticking in all directions.  He looks young, younger than Myungjun was expecting.

He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to lessen its disorder.  He plops into the chair behind his desk and straightens his tie.  He picks the manilla folder on his keyboard, the one that the receptionist left there when he brought Myungjun into the room.  "It's Kim Myungjun?" Doctor Moon asks, voice clinically disinterested.  Myungjun can tell he has had a fair amount practice, no matter how deceptively young he may appear.

Myungjun nods once, and Doctor Moon closes the folder, returning it to its place on the keyboard. He picks up a pen and clicks it as he leans back into his chair.  He reaches for something out of Myungjun's view and pulls it onto his lap.  He poises his pen over the yellow legal pad and sighs, "How can I help you today, Mr. Kim?"

Myungjun frowns, "I told the receptionist when I made the appointment over the phone."

Doctor Moon nods and offers a brief smile, "Yes, you did.  But I would like for you to tell me anyhow.  Verbalizing issues can be very cathartic."

"I can't Dream properly."

"What makes you think that you can't Dream properly?" Doctor Moon asks with an eyebrow raised.

"Because I don't know who they are.  All that I know is that my soulmate might be a guy.  Everything else is out of focus and useless on the nights when I _can_ Dream," Myungjun sighs, feeling defeated because now someone outside of his trusted friend group knows, even if it is a _doctor_.

"You're not nearly as alone as you'd think," Doctor Moon states in a soft, understanding voice.  "Plenty of people struggle with Dreams in a variety of different ways.  The first question that I have to ask is whether you're biologically impaired or if you're dealing with a psychological block."

Myungjun feels his lips twitch down.  Something inside of him twists his stomach.  The options as they seem are that Myungjun has some sort of sickness that interferes with his ability to grasp onto an image of his soulmate or that part of his subconscious refuses to let him simply  _have_ it, have an image of him.

"I'm not aware of any physical ailments on my part," Myungjun replies slowly, unsure of exactly how Doctor Moon plans on discovering the root of his problem.

Doctor Moon sets his legal pad aside, lips quirking into an uneven smile, "There are a few disorders that inhibit your ability to Dream.  Insomnia, for one.  Narcolepsy also affects the quality of Dreams according to certain studies.  There is a correlation between brain damage and decreased capacity to Dream, but I don't think this applies in your case.  It could also be that normal dreams you have during REM cycles interfere with Dreams, or that your brain processes memories created in Dreams inefficiently.  However, it is entirely possible that your issue lies in Dissonance, which is the case most of the time when people have difficulty recalling and interpreting their Dreams."

"Dissonance of?"

Doctor Moon drums his fingers on top of the pile of files held down by his name placard. He seems to be weighing the options of telling Myungjun, which Myungjun cannot decide if he finds offensive.  He nods and says, "Dissonance between you and..." Doctor Moon waves his hand around in an attempt to gesticulate what Myungjun assumes to be fate or destiny or whatever causes Dreams.  He licks his lips and speaks quickly, "The underlying issue of Dissonance typically deals with worthiness. You don't feel  _worthy_ of being loved unconditionally for whatever reason, and so your brain deliberately refuses to process details and memories of Dreams for you.  Some people do not always realize that they feel this way."

Myungjun processes this explanation.  He stares the doctor for a moment before slowly articulating his thoughts into one sentence, "You're suggesting that I have inadequacy issues?"

"Or inferiority issues," Doctor Moon says with a look on his face that suggests he is afraid his words have offended Myungjun.

They sit in silence, tension thick in the air.   _Moon Bin, MD_ 's words hang in the air awkwardly, a question that doesn't want to be asked but has to be asked by virtue of its existence.  Myungjun should have figured there would be an uncomfortable truth to be discovered, something that lingered in the background but needed to be pulled out by someone with a doctorate.

Myungjun furrows his brow and swallows roughly; his throat is far drier than it should be.  He shifts in his seat and asks, "Would my soulmate encounter the same troubles?"

The doctor shakes his head, "Statistically speaking, no.  Unless your soulmate also suffers from Dissonance, which is highly unlikely.  Soulmates rarely have overlapping Dreams; in fact, your soulmate probably Dreams of entirely different things about your relationship than you do.  Dreams tend to sate present worries about soulmates, so if, say, you're afraid of being alone, then you're far more likely to have a Dream with physical contact, kissing, or sex."

"How do I fix it?" Myungjun asks quietly.

Moon Bin, MD presses his lips into a tight smile, "Usually Dissonance resolves itself once you've accepted that you have every right to be loved and no one is going to lose anything by loving you.  Look, Kim Myungjun, Mr. Kim, why don't you take a week?  If at the end of the week you still feel that you need my services, we can discuss paths forward.  We can do testing for any kind of medical impediment to Dreaming, and if turns out to be a more difficult case of Dissonant Dreaming, we can arrange for psychotherapy to counteract it."

Myungjun nods in agreement.

 

//

 

Myungjun stares at himself in the mirror.

"I am worthy of being loved," he tells his reflection.  There is no confidence in his voice, however.  It lacks that distinctive 'oomph' that backs up comments he truly believes.  It feels weak, more of a question than a statement or a declaration.  It's funny in that not-so-funny-actually-kind-of-painful way because Myungjun has always considered himself a confident person.  He has moments of genuine self-love that are necessary for a fulfilled life.  He rarely falls into the habit of making self-deprecating jokes, at least not the way Sanha does.  While it is true that he will call himself handsome in a joking tone, playing off of the upbeat vibes filling the room, he has never had trouble with himself.  It is not as though he puts on some face for the rest of the world; there are no underlying doubts that follow him around.

He thinks that he would be the first to know if he felt like he didn't deserve a soulmate.

Okay, sure, yes, he has indulged the occasional thought--fear, really-- that his soulmate will show up and be disappointed.  After all, his soulmate doesn't know him, not in the ways that count.  He has a general shape of a person, a smile, a scent, but those,  _those_ are the window dressings.  They are all the little superficial things.  His soulmate has no clue that nine times out of ten he manages to burn the rice in the cooker.  His soulmate does not know that he once dreamed of being a world class singer.  His soulmate has an image equivalent to a staged home.  Dreams are trying to sell him a house by showing him everything that it could be.  Look at those options, how great this living room would be with a throw rug, but all that he ends up with is an unfurnished house.

The occasional, albeit detailed, thought shouldn't disqualify him from Dreaming.  He is entitled to the same superficial process.  Myungjun wants that. He wants to discover something new about his soulmate every day.  He wants to build a life and adopt a dog and stay in bed for too long on cold, winter mornings.  He  _wants._

He shakes his head and steels himself, looking at his reflection more intently, "I am worthy of being loved."

The tone has shifted from weak and unsure to angry.  Myungjun braces his hands against the edge of the sink's counter, hanging his head, closing his eyes in defeat.  This feels useless.

Since his appointment with Moon Bin, MD, 'I am worthy of being loved' has been his internal mantra.  For as many times he has said it out loud, there have been twenty iterations of it in his head.  His little self-affirmation is supposed to open the door to Dreams of his soulmate. Granted in this little metaphor, Myungjun closed the door himself, but he is trying not to be bitter at himself for feeling unworthy.

It feels silly and ineffective.  How can six simple words pull at the intricately woven ideas and beliefs that have been created to protect him from rejection?  He feels like a college student again, hopelessly unprepared for an upcoming test, relying on hope and faith in himself to deliver a good grade.  Words, oh words, can do all sorts of damage, but Myungjun does not know if they can heal just as effectively.  Negativity is so much easier to accept than positivity because destruction can be done swiftly.  Buildings implode with well-placed dynamite, but creating buildings is complicated and time-consuming.  It requires blueprints and construction teams, i-beams and insulation, glass panes and drywall.  It takes an army to properly build a skyscraper, but only a small team to demolish one.

Myungjun walks out of his bathroom, unsure if a simple saying enough to magically unlock his Dreams.

He crawls under his covers, pulling a pillow against his chest.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that this warmth is incomparable to what he has experienced in his Dreams.  He wants to dwell, but dwelling would distract him from trying to fall asleep.

He tries to count sheep.  He makes it all the way to seventy-three before he starts to think about what a weird word it is.  He wonders about its etymology, past the fact that is derived from Mandarin.  What is so appealing about sheep as the word to described the animal?  Or perhaps it is a meme, the smallest unit of understanding in a culture.  A sheep has always been a sheep; it cannot be broken down into its parts, there is no need to seek further explanation.  Linguistically, a morpheme--people will glue all sorts of prefixes and suffixes to alter what a sheep is, but it does not and will not change the fact that a sheep is a sheep.

He does not know how long it takes to fall asleep.  His mind keeps straying away from the sheep that need counting.  It meanders, jumping from topic to topic, making it difficult to keep track of how many sheep have floated through his head.

 

 

_Soulmate is pale. At least, his skin seems pale in contrast to the dark swaths of rich, black ink that bloom across his skin.  Myungjun runs his index finger along a tattooed skin of his soulmate's back.  Perhaps that is why he seems pale.  Rarely exposed skin during the winter time in morning light would naturally seem paler than usual.  These tattoos are new, newer than some of the others that Myungjun has seen on his body.  The edges of the lines are still crisp, but the redness that accompanies their birth has faded away._

_Soulmate lies on his chest, face buried in a pillow, mouth and nose turned in the opposite direction, pulling oxygen from the air on the other side of the bed.  HIs hair is dyed brown, the black roots peak out just barely.  Soulmate probably needs a touch-up, but Myungjun knows he won't get one._

_"Your fingers are cold," says Soulmate in a gruff, sleep-laden voice._

_Myungjun softly bites his lip, hiding his smile from Soulmate because Soulmate has a sixth sense about Myungjun's smiles.  Myungjin walks his fingers across the expanse of his soulmate's back, going off of the track that his tattoos have provided him.  "Does it bother you?  What's the saying?  Cold hands, warm heart."_

_Soulmate grabs his hand, laces their fingers together, and pulls it against his chest.  "I've confiscated your hand, so let's sleep," he whines lowly._

_"I have another."_

_"Use it and I will disown you.  You'll be kicked out of the bed and lose my love for at least an hour."_

_"A whole, entire hour?  What ever will I do?"_

_Soulmate grunts, displeased by the casual tone of Myungjun's voice, "Be lonely and miss me terribly."_

_Myungjun smiles freely and plants a small kiss at the top of Soulmate's spine.  He proceeds to try burying his nose in the unforgiving flesh of his soulmate's shoulder._

_Myungjun feels whole._

 

//

 

Myungjun finds himself drawing the general outline of his soulmate's back tattoo on the margins of notepad during his weekly meeting.  The occasional doodle has happened before, generally when there is a transition of speaking roles, handing off the reporting baton to the next person.  However, he has already moved past the doodle phase, in fact, he isn't really sure what his coworker is talking about.  Her voice is just a low buzz in his ears, relegated to meaningless noise as he channels all his focus into correctly portraying an abstract tattoo.

He should probably feel about it, his inability to focus on his work.  He has present obligations, but Myungjun finally has something to imagine.  He can cling to it and keep it.  His mantra is working, slowly but surely.  He is several years behind the curve, missing out on hours worth of daydreams in high school and college.  His mood has completely lifted with the mere thought of an identifiable piece of information.  He has never thought about it before-- the idea that Dreams update with every modification of appearance.  It hadn't mattered before, and everyone knows that Dreams are not premonitions.

He is undeniably  _giddy_ that his soulmate has chosen to get a tattoo.  It makes it so much simpler to search for him.  Myungjun is tempted to hang around various tattoo parlors in the vain hope of running into his soulmate.  The notion is ridiculous; An "of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world" type of idea that he should happen upon his soulmate at some nearby tattoo parlor.  He does not know how often his soulmate takes a needle to the skin, making art out of a scar as ink gets buried into his flesh. For his soulmate, pain becomes beauty because beauty cannot exist without pain.

The meeting concludes without Myungjun needing to contribute.  It's a blessing because, if asked, Myungjun will be unable to regurgitate a single piece of information that was shared in that room.

He returns to his desk, running his fingers over the drawing.  His lines are deep, more than deep enough to leave an imprint on several of the pages below.  Pressure is the mark of a confident hand, for once, Myungjun has something to be confident about when it comes to his soulmate.

Myungjun tries to concentrate on his work.  He really does; he has a lot of proofing and editing to do.  However, he cannot.  He wants to sleep so that he can have another Dream and have even more hold onto.  He wants to see his face.  It isn't unreasonable. Everyone else takes it for granted, but Myungjun feels like he finally might be able to recognize his soulmate if he ever actually met him. 

He reads the same paragraph ten times before he decides that he is too distracted to do work.  He'll take some of it home and hope that he'll find the will to work after a short nap (or a brief Dream as Myungjun hopes).

He shoves a sizable stack of files and loose papers into his bag and tells his boss that he isn't feeling well.  He hopes it isn't a lie when he promises to get some work done on his couch with a warm cup of tea.

The vague promise of meeting his fate compels him to take the longer route home and linger at the storefront of a tattoo parlor between the office and home.  He peeks through the window, past the clean decals and small neon signage, as if any of the figures inside might be the slightest bit familiar.  Of course, he knows that the world is too big of a place; he doesn't have the luck to happen into a coincidence.  He probably would have stayed in his place, still and staring through the tinted glass, seeing a vague outline of his reflection; however, he sees one of the employees inside spot him.  The employee's posture shifts as he pulls away from the canvas of someone's arm.

Myungjun cannot believe himself when the thought word "pretty" floats into his mind once he sees the employee's face.  He feels as though he has been caught, a peeping tom witnessing an important moment without permission.  He becomes flustered and looks down at his feet, blush burning through the skin of his cheeks.  (The blush is probably lost under the rosy cheeks of winter, but Myungjun knows the special heat of embarrassment.)  He takes one misstep, stumbling before scurrying away, clutching the strap of his messenger bag, knuckles as white as the bones beneath his skin.

He feels some residual heat on his face for the entire journey home.  Whether the blush comes from being caught zoning out on a stranger or from thinking that he was pretty--a thought and sentiment to be reserved solely for his soulmate--Myungjun does not know.  In the end, it does not matter either.  The moment has come and gone, and Myungjun just wants to fall asleep and Dream of the person with whom he is supposed to belong.

He brews himself a small batch of chai, downs it without any sugar, and crawls into his bed with all of his clothes still on.

 

_Soulmate looks out the window of the train, sunlight dulling the edges of his sharp profile. His collarbones peek out from beneath his loose brown sweater, sleeves a little too long for stylistic purposes.  For once, his ears are bare and free of piercings.  His hair is swept out of his face.  One hand of fingers drums against his bouncing thigh, and the other hand is curled into a loose fist and pressed against his lips._

_Tension seeps into the air.  His soulmate exudes nervousness, which is completely uncharacteristic of him.  Myungjun feels a distinct fondness for the idea of his soulmate being nervous._

_Myungjun clears his throat loudly.  Soulmate snaps his attention away from the scenery blurring past to Myungjun._

_Brown eyes.  They aren't smiling like they are keen to do; the general shape of his eyes almost guarantees a perpetually friendly demeanor.  They are wide and attentive.  His nose is as straight as ever, although he complains that it has never quite felt right since the last time that he broke it.  His face comes to a point at his chin with a strong, clean jawline.  Pale pink lips part softly in surprise._

_Myungjun would punch someone if anyone said that Soulmate wasn't beautiful, especially with sunlight illuminating half of his face._

_"Stop worrying," Myungjun chides softly, "I'm not going anywhere."_

_Soulmate cracks a smile and rolls his eyes.  He gives the slight shake of his head before looking back out of the window with a lingering grin on his lips._

 

Myungjun wakes up with a face and a concern.

It's the face of the employee at the tattoo parlor.

 

//

 

"I think I had a Dream of my soulmate," Myungjun quietly says as he helps Dongmin put invitations into envelopes.  It's for Dongmin's boss's daughter's wedding, and yes, Myungjun thinks this is an abuse of power or at least an abuse of Dongmin's kindness.

"That's great! Did you see their face?"  Dongmin hums, smoothly sliding in heavy paper into an off-white envelope.

Myungjun shrugs and responds, "Well, I have a slight problem."

Dongmin frowns and sets down the envelope in hand, "Explain."

Myungjun shifts in his seat awkwardly.  He has never had such difficulty baring his soul to Dongmin before.  He takes a quick breath, urging himself to get over it, and begins, "Okay.  Um, I had something akin to a Dream about my soulmate in which I saw his face.  However, it was the face of a guy that I had embarrassed myself in front of earlier that day, so I don't know if it was a dream or if it was a  _Dream._ " 

"Does it matter?" Dongmin hums, picking up a new invitation to stick in an envelope.

"Does it matter?" Myungjun squeaks, "Of course, it matters!  For one, I don't know if he is actually my soulmate. If I try to approach him and he isn't my soulmate, I'll embarrass myself  _and_ I will have betrayed my real soulmate.  I cannot differentiate between what is real and what I want to be real.  What if I just picked some random face because I was that desperate to find my soulmate?"

A soft sigh. 

"Myungjun, I have the energy to say this once, and it's some really good advice, so listen carefully.  In a world that accepts fate or destiny or whatever you want to call having a soulmate, there are no coincidences or happy accidents.  Take a leap of faith because it's bound to get you somewhere.  Any decision that you make is one that leads you down the right path--barring extreme measures, of course.  I know it might cause an existential crisis if you pick at the details of this system, which doesn't account for everything perfectly, but you need to start somewhere.  You don't need to think that being blocked from Dreams is part of what is meant to happen right now, but it's all meant to work out, isn't it?"

Dongmin gives Myungjun the  _look._  The one that says he's being ridiculous and all that jazz.  The one that says dammit Myungjun you deserve happiness and it will be worth it if all that happens is a little embarrassment.

"Are you telling me to take a chance?"

"I'm telling you that the world isn't as big as you think it is."

 

//

 

Myungjun is so nervous that he feels it in his toes.  There is a pinch of excitement somewhere in there too as his fingers wrap around the chromed handle of the tattoo parlor's door.  He pries it open, letting a rush of warm air greet his face.  Funny, somehow he always imagined that it would be cold inside of a tattoo place.

He realizes he does not have a plan.  He does not know his supposed soulmate's name.  What should he ask?  Does he describe the man's face, or does he lie about wanting a tattoo?  Will the employee here judge him for being such a mess?  He does not want to walk up to a stranger and say that he thinks they might be soulmates but he's not quite positive.

Luckily, and this is the first time Myungjun will ever use 'luckily' in a genuine manner, he does not have to think that far ahead because the person he is searching for is the very person who greets him.  He breathes out: "It's you."

"It's me."

_"Hi."_

"Hello."

"I'm Park Jinwoo."

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm currently trying to figure out what i want to do with the rest of this au, if there is anything else to do with it all. ALSO, idk anything about how therapy works and have a small, _small_ understanding of psychology, so take that with a giant grain of salt.
> 
> i should just call this 'describing things with yehetno' tbh. & i'm sorry that bin is doctor and mj refers to him as dr. moon, but they don't really know each other so...  
> i'm also sorry that i didn't even mention rocky...for reasons......
> 
> kudos/comment/bookmark. feedback would be nice, not required, though. (something something here's my [ tumblr ](https://yehetno.tumblr.com))
> 
> merry christmas, happy hannukah, & any other holidays celebrated this season! (this is likely my last fic of the year, so see some of you next year?)


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